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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29365284">I Will Answer to Knife</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkindghost/pseuds/Spinchip'>Spinchip (Thatkindghost)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lego Ninjago</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood, Gen, Injury, Manipulation, Non-Graphic Violence, Post S11, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:55:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,629</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29365284</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkindghost/pseuds/Spinchip</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Zane struggles with weapons he isn’t used to. Zane struggles with what he offers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Will Answer to Knife</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <em>Wouldbelove, do not think of me as a whetstone<br/>until you hear the whole story:<br/>In it, I’m not the hero, but I’m not the villain either<br/>so let’s say, in the story, I was human<br/>and made of human-things: fear<br/>and hands, underbelly and blade.</em>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
<p></p><div class=""><p>He overcompensates, loses his balance and skids across the courtyard. His side takes the brunt of it, and if he were human the bruises would be layered one on top of the other, each time he slips imprinted onto his skin in a motley purple-blue-yellow. He’s not human, so all he has to show for his fumbling is radiating pain not unlike cracked ribs, a dirty gi, and tight-lipped irritation that barely masks shame. The impact sends his shuriken out of his hands, arcing in an unrefined fling that has one stuck out of the gate across the yard and the other lying, like him, in the dirt.</p></div></div><div class="">
  <p>He rolls to a stop, flopping back onto the ache of his shoulder blades to stare up at the sky. Without thinking, he balls his hand into a fist and bangs the side of his palm against the edge of the training mat he can reach. Frustration seeps hot across his throat and down his chest, like blood from a fresh wound. He rolls over on his sore side by mistake but doesn’t dare suck in a hissing breath, not with the others watching so closely, gathering his legs underneath him and rising to his feet.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Kai looks sympathetic from his spot on the blue mat that is not big enough to keep his failure contained, the dirt on his gi proof of his mistakes spilling over. The wooden swords in his hands are awkward and out of place, their weight different from his normal weaponry yet even with this disadvantage, he puts Zane down over and over.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Well, Zane does most of the work for him, really.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lloyd watches with a pinched expression as Zane dusts himself off, his position at the head of the training session a solid presence, “I think that’s enough for today.” He says, and he almost seems apologetic.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I can go again.” Zane insists, and refuses to stumble as he collects his discarded weapons, wrenching the edge of his blade out of the gate with his dwindling strength.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s exhausted. They’ve been running basic drills, ameatuer hour stuff Zane should have been able to do in his sleep- but it’s been years. Decades upon decades stuck on the throne of the Never Realm, and now he’s out of practice and off balance. Nindroids don't have muscle memory, and his regular memory has been shredded enough that things like this didn’t bother to stick. He can’t get through a single move without losing the dexterity that used to come easy and sending himself to the dirt- Lloyd had gone from advanced moves to novice to beginner slowly throughout the day, yet the result was the same: Zane in the dirt of his own accord, aching and weak.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>To add insult to injury, Kai is obviously holding back. Jay had been too, yesterday, Nya the day before. In the span of a week he went from the most formidable man in the realm to an uncoordinated child who needed to be treated delicately. He could barely land a hit on the training dummy, and it didn’t even move.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Maybe you can try your bow again?” Zane can’t meet Kais eyes, the pity he’s trying to mask making his wires curl.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We saw how well that went.” Jay mutters not uncharitably, another string of disappointments a few days prior where his aim left much to be desired, and quite nearly took his eye when he’d lost his grip.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The others had been training too, but they’d stopped to watch as Lloyd summoned Kai and Zane to spar.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We need to assess your skills in combat,” Lloyd had said earlier that day, the <em>so we can make up for your shortcomings</em> going unsaid but heavy all the same. Or maybe Zane is the one being uncharitable- but he’s in pain and tired and his mask of calm is harder to keep a grip on now.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And Kai had hesitated on the edge of the mat, holding the steel of his swords, and with his head down had swapped them for wooden fakes. The insult threatened to make Zanes lip curl, but he’d been forced to concede to his foresight when dull wood blades cracked against the side of his thigh and forced him to the ground, in one of the few times Zane had managed to stay on his feet long enough to be taken down by something other than his own shortcomings. He should have been able to dodge.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The shurikens are so small in his hands, and he hasn’t used them in so so long. He's rusty.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I can go again.” He insists, stepping back onto the mat. In a real battle, he’d be less than useless. They couldn’t protect him, he had to be able to take care of himself. He had to keep going until he could at least survive. He was <em>good</em> at surviving, he’d spent decades hanging on by a thread- countering a wooden sword shouldn't be so difficult compared to parrying the knives from assassins or the swords of dead men walking. He’s weak.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lloyd gets that look on his face that he only gets when he has to do something he really doesn’t want to do, mostly when he must flex his status on the others when they're being particularly stubborn. It’s a pained stony sort of expression, “That’s enough for today.” he says more firmly, shoulder squaring. He loses the soft edges of the boy he used to be, Master Lloyd filling in the spaces rigid.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Protest raises on his tongue, “The longer I go at the skill level I am at now, the more dangerous it becomes.” fear, frustration, and desperation simmers below the surface, “I am a liability on the field, I cannot stop until I can hold my own.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We can continue training tomorrow.” Lloyd says, unyielding. Green eyes trail down to Zanes' sore side, assessing.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He bristles and tries to tamp it down, “You do not need to go easy on me-” he starts.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lloyd interrupts him, “Yes we do-” frustration cracking the facade of the master, the others looking on in wide eyed worry.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Lloyd, Zane, enough.” Wu's voice rings out in sharp tones, his presence slamming the lid on the boiling over pot, “I believe I have a suggestion to solve our problem.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Problem.</em> Zane tries not to let that sting as he spins to face Master Wu.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The man is descending the stairs of the monastery into the courtyard, the others parting like the red sea, his cape trailing on the edge of the steps as he comes down. In his hand is-</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Zanes vision tunnels, Lloyd, Kai, the others all fading away as he takes in the smooth metal, leather bound handle, the wicked curved blade- a piece of him <em>howls,</em> jagged and frozen fingers scrabbling at the corners of his mind, the sight of that staff is like going snowblind. All at once he’s standing in the courtyard amongst his friends and the throne room at the same time, realities overlapping in brutal contrast.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His shuriken bounces off his foot and he is thrust back into his body, his hands empty where he’d dropped his weapons in shock. Wu approaches him with the staff and he takes a shaky step backwards, wiping at his mouth with wobbling hands, half expecting to wipe away spit- salivating at just the sight of it. His wrists and fingers ache, begging him to take it in his hands.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Wu disregards his reaction, walking into his space among the group on the mat. He thunks the staff down in front of Zane, the weight of it digging into blue, like it is the answer.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s so spooked he doesn’t dare move, looking at it with wide eyes. Now that he’s more present, he realizes it’s nearly identical to the Staff of Forbidden Spinjitzu, except this one is notably missing the scroll that gave it the corruptive power. It’s just a staff, plain and simple.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No one says a word. Zane stares at it, trembling.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lloyd is quiet, then, “Are you sure that this is a good idea, Master Wu?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Wu looks sad but he’s trying to mask it, “You are their teacher, Lloyd. When Zane falters, what do you see?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Zane is listening, sort of. He’s tracing the edge of the blade with his eyes- sharpened to a fine point, clean and perfect. It looks heavy, the whole thing does, he can nearly taste the weight of it on his tongue. He wants to take it so badly it hurts, and in the same breath he wants to cast it off the side of the mountain or freeze it solid and <em>shatter it against the stone under his feet</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He’s off balance. He’s compensating for a weight that’s not there.” Lloyd looks like he’s swallowed a lemon, “The shuriken are too small.” He admits.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Wu nods to the weapon in his hand, glancing from Lloyd to pin his eyes on Zane, “You’ve had a lifetime of practice with this weapon. You’ve wielded a staff longer than a shuriken or a bow, perhaps it is time to embrace that.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Zane doesn’t even look at him. He can almost feel the whisper on the back of his mind- it’s not there, the staff is a replica without the extra power, but Zane can imagine it all the same.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He reaches out and takes it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The feel of it in his palm is like a starburst of agony, an ice burn that jumps up the metal of his forearm and digs into the plane of his chest. Flickers of memories flash in his mind's eyes all like looking through a pane of frosted ice-glass, cold seeping into his skeleton. A memory rises unbidden, a man he did not freeze, who had been close enough to strike with the blade- <em>red red red</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He chucks it across the courtyard without thinking, staggering away from it, “I can’t.” he nearly gags, before darting past Wu and Lloyd and narrowly avoiding Coles worried brush of his fingers. He takes the stairs two at a time, throwing open the front door and not bothering to shut it behind him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He holes himself away in his room, sitting on the floor next to his bed, trying to hold himself together.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Too much too soon, the staff wrenched memories he’d been ignoring and hiding away free.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He doesn’t want to admit it, wants to choke it down and pretend it didn’t happen, but he can’t deny that- even with the pain and shame and bloody wounded guilt overwhelming him- taking that staff had felt like coming home.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Home was supposed to be <em>Ninjago.</em> Somewhere along the way, it became the throne room, too. He’d been split in half, pieces of him trapped in a realm he could never return to. The closest he’d ever get to sating the pervasive homesick itch is to hold a facsimile of his tool of violence.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Perhaps it is time to embrace that </em>Wu had said, holding out the weapon he’d bloodied his hands with.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Evening comes and goes, and he skips dinner again. He’s crawled into bed at some point, staring up at the ceiling, trying hard not to think. He swallows down the threatening urge to crack under it all. In the darkness, he stares at his palms.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Vex is standing at his side, the throne room an open doorway behind them, and the staff is a curling presence he’s never without. It’s hard to think about these memories because he doesn’t form thoughts like he did when he was broken, the memories jagged and warped. Trying to understand is like catching a blade you’ve dropped- a falling knife has no handle. It hurts.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But in this memory he and Vex are walking through the palace hall. Grand windows might as well be painted white with the snow obscuring the now frozen wasteland, but the Emperor had no desire to see the outside world, or anything at all. This is before he had snuffed out the rising rebellions, this is before he’d flexed his power and made the people afraid, this is before they’d even given him the moniker Ice Emperor. He is nameless now, even Vex only calls him by his title. He doesn’t even know he is missing something so vital.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Vex says, “You don’t need to worry about the inconsequential things,” he’s a step behind Zane, and when his emperor slows he can prod him so he keeps moving, “You are an instrument of power, these things are beneath you. I will handle the day-to-day for you, my Emperor.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The click of his staff ticks across the hall as they walk, “And what am I to handle?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Nothing. Simply keep your hold on our eternal winter, and raise your staff when I ask it of you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There's a stirring of thought in the empty caverns of his head and not a hint of it is kind, “I am your attack dog, then.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>To his credit, Vex doesn’t falter, “You are my Emperor.” he says immediately, and then- carefully, and almost genuinely curious, “What do you have to offer other than violence?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Zane lays in bed and stares at the shapes in the dark that might be his hands. Shurikens don’t fit right any more, his arrows shoot askance. If the next threat arises in the morning, what can he do except cost his friends focus?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He is a bleeding wound. They need to treat him gently and delicately- but life is not gentle and delicate, and perhaps it is time to take a knife over a fire and cauterize the injury.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He slips and goes horizontal and his blood spills across the dirt. It’s metaphorical until it’s not and the newest adversary forgoes fake wooden swords for real ones, sharpened blades sinking home. If he were human he would bleed red blood. He’s not human, so it’s oil and coolant and hydraulic fluid seeping into the soil.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He is a liability. Weak-link. He has to learn to fight again. He has to embrace it, even if it feels like frostbite chipping away at him, even if it hurts. Vex had forged him into a knife, forced him into the shape of a blade and sharpened him with blood instead of water, if he can accept these pieces he can make himself useful once more. It was all he had.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He wants to feel strong again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Morning comes in slanting lights though his window, the blanket is too hot under them. He hadn’t slept enough but he rolls out of bed and changes into a clean gi anyway and trails out of his room. Conversation falls hushed when he comes into the kitchen, and he eats breakfast despite the way his stomach churns- it tastes like it always tastes, bland and unappetizing. The ache in his side had faded over the night, nearly non-existent. He can spar fresh.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We didn’t think you’d be joining us today.” Nya tries, smiling over her bagel.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He doesn’t shrug, putting his fork down, “I meant what I said. I cannot stop until I can protect myself.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nya’s face grows pinched and worried, “You can, though.” She reaches across the table and sets her hand on top of his, and she doesn’t jolt or comment at all about how cold he is, “You can take a break, Zane.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Wu had called him a problem. Zane knows that’s not what he meant, but it weighs his shoulders like lead, and he doesn’t respond. He stands up and takes his plate to the sink, and her hands falls flat against the table.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The staff is sitting on the porch, leaned up against the wall. He focuses on it the moment they walk outside, and Jay ducks his head nervously- he was probably supposed to put it away so Zane didn’t see it again, but they thought he was going to skip like he had the first few days after he’d come home. Never put off until tomorrow what can be done today.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They do warm-ups, then Lloyd pairs them up for sparring, and his eyes skate over Zane reluctantly until, “Cole… Zane. Come spar.” The others don’t need for Lloyd to supervise them, or the training mat. Zane needs both.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They both go to the weapons and Cole, like Kai yesterday, avoids his hammer. He reaches for the wooden training swords but Zane catches his wrist.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He looks up, startled, “Zane?” He asks, confused.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He manhandles his hand over to the grip of his hammer, “Do not hold back.” He says firmly, and then jogs up the stairs and wraps his fingers around the staff.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Expecting it this time, he compartmentalizes the memories the instant they surface, shoving them back. In the absence of pain there is comfort, the weight so achingly familiar a hole inside of him he didn’t know he had is filled. Like coming home, he’d felt it yesterday. Confidence pours into his system- he knows how to hold this, to swing this, to fight with this. He picks it up and it’s perfectly balanced, a missing limb reattached.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Carrying it down the stairs, he’s aware of their stares.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Kai and Nya break formation, moving back to give Cole and Zane room. Jay follows their lead, and they settle back to watch.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Cole is holding his hammer and his expression is grim, “Are you sure you can handle this?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He feels like he’s being filled with ice, chill threatening to frost over his eyes. He’s not sure at all, but he says, “Don’t hold back.” Again anyway.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Shurikens are small. To fight, he has to stand back, give space, evade and dodge. Bow and arrows are much the same. They are largely defensive. Before the Never Realm, he was good at defense.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Whenever you’re ready.” Lloyd says and Zane carefully tunes out the apprehension in his voice.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Now he is more comfortable on the offense.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He moves.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The Ice Emperor rarely fights in close combat- he rarely fights at all, actually. He waves his staff and freezes, he calls ice and allows that to do the work for him, but when he does face off one on one, he does so as brutally efficiently as he can. He is all offense, blow after blow after unrelenting blow- he pours bone-shattering strength into each strike, driving rebellion leaders to their knees, knocking back a town's most elite soldiers, and if they don’t go down on the first hit he wastes no time lashing out again. He rushes his opponent, he overwhelms them, and he offers not a single second of reprieve.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He hauls back, crossing the mat in half a second, and slices through the air in a clean and powerful swing. The crack of his staff against the handle of Cole's hammer sounds like a gunshot with the terrible force behind it, and before Cole can gather his bearing he swings again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He beats him back faster than he expected- Cole underestimated him, and it cost him precious ground. He tries to put distance between them to get a moment to make his move, but Zane is with him step for step, suffocating any moves before they can breathe.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>To fight with his shuriken or his bow is like oil against his water, they don’t mix now that the staff has imprinted itself onto his mind. He cannot reconcile the difference, not yet. He compensates for the weight of the staff, keeps his balance, and advances on his target with brutal efficiency.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He sweeps his leg out while splitting Cole's attention with a strike intended for his side, and Cole goes down with a startled shout. Zane twists the staff so the flat side of the blade is sitting on his chest- the intent is clear, but there’s no danger he’ll accidentally cut him. It’s over in heartbeats, and Cole looks up at him, astonished.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Holy moly.” Jay breathes.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Zane moves the blade aside, shifting the staff to hold it upright. He glances over at Lloyd, who looks a shade paler than before the fight, whose eyes are a bit too wide. He was the only one who’d seen the Ice Emperor in action, and the last time he’d held the blade against someone's chest it had been him- sharp side down, the intent had been clear then, too. Zane averts his eyes, guilt threatening the progress he’d made even picking the staff up, and focused on holding out a hand so he could bring Cole back to his feet.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Cole winces as he pulls him up, “Zane…” He says, staggering, “That was like nothing I've ever seen from you.” He flexes his fingers, the blows stinging his hands even now.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He doesn’t flinch or shy away from his friends' looks, “It’s how I fought.” He’s hoping he doesn’t have to put any more context to that sentence, he doesn’t want to say the Never Realms name out loud.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“How?” Nya asks, “You left so many openings, how did you win?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Overwhelming force.” Zane says.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The openings mean nothing if I can’t even swing.” Cole shakes his head.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Master Wu smiles from the doorway, “Very impressive, Zane."</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The pieces of himself snapped clean down the middle don’t mend, but they aren’t bleeding anymore either. Satisfaction, purpose, strength floods his system. He is not striped with dirt or bruises, he is no longer a failure- he is formidable, dangerous. He can fight, now.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>What does he have to offer other than violence?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Zane cannot be the man he was before, but he can be a weapon. He can't remember any other way to be.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The staff sits comforting in his hand.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><em>I like to call myself wound</em><br/>but I will answer to knife.</p>
<p>
  <em>Underbelly by Nicole Homer</em>
</p>
<p>The title and poetry fragments come from the source above. Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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